


The Ones You Love the Most

by iSleepy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Music, POV Alternating, Techno-centric, Trust Issues, villian!wilbur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iSleepy/pseuds/iSleepy
Summary: Technoblade's memorized the ins and outs of war. He's witnessed the destruction of creation, the creation of destruction, and too many lives lost over countless attempts to replicate impossible peace. Every time he's involved, the cruel familiarity of distancing grows, weeds fed sunlight in the cracks of his heart. And, contrary to popular belief, he hates it. Despises how it forces the carefully hidden walls to detach him further. Despises how damaging those walls are. Despises how he can't bring himself to care when he's called out and has no cocern for the splattering crimson around him. No matter who it is.When Wilbur comes back after months of isolation pleading him to come back to Manburg, not to mention looking like an assaulted ragdoll and bringing news that Tommy's in danger, Techno's willing to fight tooth and nail. But eventually, he can't help but wonder why, what went so wrong, and why is it always the ones you love the most.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), platonic - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 111





	1. Leaves From the Vine

**Author's Note:**

> (this story is basically an alternate universe where techno had joined the Dream SMP before, left because of the destruction happening around/without him, and comes back only slightly after wilbur's moment where he loses it completely/snaps)
> 
> if it doesn't make sense now, i hope it will soon in later chapters!

Technoblade's memorized the ins and outs of war. He's witnessed the destruction of creation, the creation of destruction, and too many lives lost over countless attempts to replicate impossible peace. Every time he's involved, the cruel familiarity of distancing grows, weeds fed sunlight in the cracks of his heart. And, contrary to popular belief, he hates it. Despises how it forces the carefully hidden walls to detach him further. Despises how damaging those walls are. Despises how he can't bring himself to care when he's called out and has no concern for the splattering crimson around him. No matter who it is.

Logically, he _should_ care. But.

_"Techno?"_

Distance and cruelty come with the job. A cold, iron cage built itself around him, hardened material choking the oxygen out of his lungs and silencing his words, and he just watched it happen without a word and now. Well, now it's too late. The frigid, mental bars are a stark contrast compared to the hot, sweltering air swirling around him, the campfire's red and orange sparks lapping near his feet. He slumps his back against the stones as the headache that's been long overdue starts brewing. A sigh escapes and the hoe falls to his side. He doesn't even flinch at the loud clank, the voice humming in his head consisting as a solid distraction from the outside world.

_"Don't do this. We-We need you. And I..."_

His head pounds with a persistent throbbing and everything hurts, numb but _oh god, so_ painful. He grasps at a side of his head, fingers interlacing with pink locks, as he attempts to rub away the aching through circular movements. Anything to ignore the screaming in his head and will away to glossy, watery blur his eyes are developing.

_"I'm afraid."_

He's lost sense of emotions. That tends to come with war, he supposes. When he's smiling, he doesn't feel happy. When he's frowning, he doesn't feel sad. Still, his mind desperately wraps and warps in every way to escape the numbness. It's unfortunately that those twists just so happen to end up stabbing him like daggers and causing tears, but at least he feels _something,_ right?

_"Don't be ridiculous. What could you be afraid of?"_  
_"...you."_

At least he doesn't feel _alone_ anymore.

The pain stops as soon as the voices do, excluding the minor headache left in its wake. The relief he receives afterwards is nothing short of unsatisfying. Something warm slides down his cheek but he's only acutely aware of it as he reaches up and rubs away the salty traitor.

Technoblade is lonely. It's weird: he loves the freedom of tending to his farm in silence, loves the soft crickets and the rolling of the wind, but the lack of giggles accompanying him feels sickeningly wrong and the world's long since felt empty. There's no joy in his farming anymore, only an empty field with craters of ruined memories and mediocre tasks. Recently, the days have been more soul crushing, both loving and unfriendly memories awaiting their return for the brief moments Techno snaps. For those days, he's grateful when the numbness returns. 

He warily picks up the hoe and drags it against the grass. The exhaustion hangs over his head in the form of blurriness, but he doesn't know what else to do and waiting around just uncovers things he'd rather forget, so he doesn't really have much of a choice at this point. At least the headache is subsiding, albeit slowly.

He continues to farm in silence as per usual. The comforting thwack of the hoe echoes past the horizon, quickly followed by his footsteps and the chirping of crickets. It's a boring task to most, but it's distracting and calming, so Techno doesn't mind the repetitive tediousness of it all. With farming, there's no death and there's no change and everything stays the same. The potatoes don't get angry at him when he's too dull or unresponsive. He doesn't have to comfort the potatoes because they don't have mental breakdowns, they don't go catatonic. Nobody's worried about him. He can just be himself. Numb, empty, but still there, in some way or another. And he prefers it this way.

He can convince himself of that. He prefers it silent. He prefers himself ostracized from the rest of the world, regardless of the muted aching in his chest.

He prefers being alone.

His mental argument is interrupted by a quiet but growing whinny. Hooves pound on the dirt road and Techno peers over to catch a glimpse of a horse galloping towards his cottage. His immediate assumption is that it's tax day, but the man on the horse doesn't look familiar so his guess falls flat. Worry mounting, he grabs his pail and hoe and makes his way over. The horse pulls to a stop directly in front of Techno's house and the hooded figure stumbles his way off of the horse. Techno takes a mental note of the reluctant way the man steps with his left foot - it's most likely injured somehow and an easy way to destabilize the figure. That thought alone chips off some of his buzzing worry. Before the man can knock on his door, Techno steps into view, eyes dull but wary nonetheless.

"Hello."

The man doesn't reply immediately, expression masked by the shadows. Finally, after a brief minute of silence, he opens his mouth.

"Hi... Techno," the man whispers in some kind of crushed awe, voice wavering and trembling with years of sadness. The sudden sorrowfulness only increases the awkward tension. Techno's never been good with emotions, especially with someone he doesn't know. That job was meant for someone he used to know. But he's not here so Techno has to take to role for the time being.

"You know me how?"

To be fair, it wasn't uncommon for people to know him. His body count hasn't gone unnoticed by the rest of the world. However, his name is one that often invokes fear instead of sorrow. This is... new. 

The man reaches up and, Techno stiffens, hand sliding nearby the dagger tucked inside his boot, when the hooded man grabs his cloak and all the cautioned fear melts away. The man standing before him has curled, brown hair that compliments his pale complexion, a style that's always fit him since they were young. Red skin surrounds his eyes, puffy and colored like an irritated paper cut, and the man rubs aggressively at the corners of them as tears pour down. Molted yellow and purple bruises litter his cheeks, scattered with unkempt, brown stragglers on his chin. He's different, that's obvious from looks alone, but it's still the same man and Technoblade chokes on his breath at the sight of him, suffocating on the layers of regret resurfacing.

"It's-It's Tommy, Techno. He's-"

 _Wilbur,_ his brain echoes unhelpfully. His breathing comes raspy and he takes a step back, dull eyes spiraling with flickering fear.

"He's... gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading if you made it this far! if anyone reads this at all, it's just all for goofy fun and please don't forget that the content creators in this story are actual, real people with real emotions! i won't step past any boundaries so please do the same! also, everything written is purely fictional excluding the people.
> 
> if it wasn't obvious, wilbur's new VOD really had my mind thinking so some of the ideas got swapped halfway through. hope you enjoyed c:


	2. Don't Ever Let Go of What's Beloved

Techno always found it impressively terrifying how easily he can be persuaded by Wilbur. It's a secret talent of his - a voice so sultry sweet that it seemed to almost warp people's minds into submission. 

And thus, Wilbur with trembling hands and tears flowing at the seams, only had to say two words before Techno cracked. He fakes a softer smile and carefully but firmly grasps Wilbur's shoulders, only tempting more tears to fall from the man in front of him. Expression still dull, he pulls Wilbur close, tensing as Wilbur hugs him back with everything he's got. It's a terribly shaky hug, but Techno enjoys it more than he'd like to admit. ~~He'd never say it, but maybe he's just a tad bit touch starved~~ ~~.~~

"H-He's gone and I-I'm... Techno, I'm so-so scared," Wilbur's voice sobs, voice muffled from Techno's cape. He feels Wilbur's grasp on his back tighten and soul crumple into a paper ball as his shoulders wrack with tears.

And Techno doesn't say a word back. There are a million things he could say but not one would be comforting. Not one would help.

His eyes meet the skyline while the crickets chirp harmlessly beneath the harsh sobs.

"I... I can't stop myself," Wilbur finally pitches in after moments of silence. Techno's heart aches at each voice crack that rings from his friend's voice. Quickly, he goes to cling to the numbness like a lifeline in any attempt to keep himself from shattering into Wilbur's arms. Tears taunt at the edge of his eyes and his eyes blur with each stumbled breath. "I-I--Techno, I hurt him-I hurt him and I-he's gone and-and won't come back and-and-"

Carefully, Techno untangles one of his hands from Wilbur's shaking figure and places it on top of the brown curls before him. He brushes a few strands out of Wilbur's face and continues to brush through the messy clump, even when the man's snotty, tear-stained face stops speaking and just stares, eyebrows knitted in his sorrow. Techno vaguely remembers Philza doing a similar routine when he was having a particularly messy day so he hopes that it will have the same calming effect. He's rewarded with sniffles and hitched sobs as Wilbur presses his face into Techno's shirt, salty drops burrowing itself into his shirt. Techno combs through Wilbur's hair gently and, memories clouding with reality, begins humming a very familiar tune. Wilbur tenses into his side as Mellohi mesmerically rings throughout the opened air, low voice hitting notes that pull all the right strings.

It works for a few moments. Techno and Wilbur stand there in shambles, calm and terrified, silent in a world that feels all-too-loud.

"T-Tommy," Wilbur chokes out. The unusual sadness that consistently sticks in the air is both depressing and concerning. Wilbur never was one to reveal so much. He was the calm and collected in their little family, expressions protected but visibly there. And Technoblade can't help but wonder when the last time was before the mask shattered. "He's going to leave me. He's--he's gone, Techno."

Techno's heart plummets with Wilbur's words, a weirdly sick feeling swelling inside that he was sure had died years ago. That tends to happen around Tommy and Wilbur more than he likes. "Gone where?"

A giggle. Laughter follows, the crazed man attached to the voice sinking to his knees in Techno's arms. His grasp tightens around Wilbur to sturdy him as the stone-chilled coldness engulfs him again, acting like a barrier. The laughs turn catatonic, tears returning to the shaken brunet and eyes staring like he's worlds away. Techno digs his nails into Wilbur's arms, but Wilbur only bubbles into a choked up sob.

"God damn it, Techno, don't you _get_ _it?_ I killed him. I killed him and now-well, now he's _gone_!"

"Who did you kill."

Techno spends no time waiting, he cuts straight to the case because... because he needs to hear it himself. It _can't_ be true unless he hears it himself. Wounds originally healed tear open with newfound fear when Wilbur doesn't immediately respond. Techno finds that, even if he likes silence, his patience runs thin when Wilbur _still_ doesn't say a word.

"...Tubbo."

It must be some sick joke that Technoblade's relieved.

"And what about... What about Tommy?" he adds, a dull calmness creeping into the reopened scabs.

"It _told_ you," Wilbur hums almost sing-songingly. The tune in his words breaks down as he speaks, voice cracks and ruined smiles destroying his attempt for sanity. "He's gone and I have-I haveno fucking clue where he is anymore."

This man is a shattered remain of who he used to be - someone who can't keep his emotions in check, has charcoal lines for eye bags, a broken mind for a headspace - and he realizes five seconds too late that Wilbur doesn't just _look_ different from his old self. He _isn't_ the same man as he used to be. The older man stares at Techno, but his eyes look as if they're miles away and there's nothing Technoblade can do about it.

He's too late.

But not too late for Tommy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughhh my chapters are so short!! i'll be sure to make the next one longer if i can get out of writer's block soon  
> regardless, i hope you enjoy this episode of slowly-morphing-into-my-own-personal-headcanons-of-how-technoblade-joined number ||. comments are appreciated but not required, thanks for reading if you've kept up with this so far! c:


End file.
